


following roads on faded maps

by mslowe



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Arthur doesn’t die, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Arthur, Lemon, Slow Burn, Smut, arthur morgan is a DILF, first rdr fic, strong female lead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-07 14:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mslowe/pseuds/mslowe
Summary: "She robbed you?" Dutch asks, astonished.Lena glares at the gathered men as Micah Bell shoots her a nasty look. She would spit on his face if her mouth wasn't gagged."She surprised me," he murmurs, "s'all.""She sure as hell did, wit' that shinner she gave ya'," Arthur smirks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, darlings! I am new to AO3, so please be nice while I figure out how this works. I love Arthur Morgan/Reader stories, but I always get put off when I read (Y/N) in the text. Therefore, we have Lena Butler. She will be, hopefully, everything I pictured Arthur would need for a happy ending. And yes, that means Arthur won't die.

**: lone is the wolf that dies :**

* * *

Lena stands still as the dust gathers red and the flowers sit as a pretty crown.

Elliot Butler has been buried, and she knows the stable hands have been trying to sell her belongings behind her back. Well, not so, but they think she doesn't know. She's sold everything, everything, to the bank. 

There is nothing left for her to own, and she doesn't want to own anything either way.

Lena has never been fond of the ghosts that already linger in the hours she sleeps, in the reflection of a mirror. Knowing her father would also join the repertoire that whispers her name at night, she would rather run away from it all.

She glances at her father's old pocket watch. It's time for her to go.

She doesn't spare the grave another glance, another minute. 

Walking towards her thoroughbred colt, she sighs at the burning feeling in her pocket. Tobias has not responded in months, and she suspects that he is also a ghost come to haunt her. Lena hopes that William will not disappear too, but he already has chosen to follow her brother into the army.

Sending another letter is almost like sending a prayer. She knows it will remain unanswered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena has begun her journey, but things are harder than she imagined, and it doesn't help that trouble seems to follow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely delighted with the responses I got in one day! 12 kudos is way more than I thought I'd get! Also, just for clarification purposes, Lena is 24. Arthur will be 34. This story will be set in 1893, (somewhat) following the storyline just a little ahead of time. I wanted a significant age difference, but not more than 11 years in between.

**: the sun sets west :**

* * *

It began with the pitter-patter of the rain on the tin roofs of Valentine. 

Lena pats her coat pocket and watches the rain begin to fall. Dorian is hitched before her at the front of the store and has inched closer, trying to avoid getting too wet. With the cool mist of the morning, it is cold. Spring is just beginning to drift and this winter had been harsh.

Harsh on the living, harsh on the dead. 

The winds had howled loudly the day her father gave in to his tuberculosis, she remembers. The cold air almost burned her lungs whenever she had to check up on their farm. Now the humid air was slightly bitter, but it promises warmth. She craves it.

Turning around, she picks out a couple of coins, just enough money to buy herself a few canned goods. She adjusts her hat to cover some of her face and tugs the leather coat closer to her frame. She doesn't want to be recognized since Valentine is not kind to women going around on their own.

Not unless they're mistresses of the night and thrive on reckless men.

Walking into the store, she immediately begins picking out a few things, enough to make it to Rhodes. She has to leave soon if she wants to make it to the Heartlands before nightfall without tiring out Dorian. 

The shopkeep continues to glance at her, but once she comes to the counter he smiles.

"Howdy, sir," he speaks, taking her money. Lena gives him the exact change and doesn't meet his eyes. She pulls her food into the satchel on her side and nods in acknowledgment, turning to leave.

She keeps her eyes downcast, heading for the door when it suddenly swings open and hits her straight on. She's knocked onto the floor as she hears voices and her backside feels sore on the floor.

"...you're my third favorite parasite.." she hears someone say.

But she's scrambling to stand up when a wide hand appears on her field of vision.

Lena follows the hand to meet the dark blue eyes of a handsome man. He's covered in dirt and has a tentative smile, polite.

"Uncle, you've gone an' done it," he says, his voice deep, rich.

She immediately stands up, refusing his help.

"What'cha mean, Arthur?" another man says, looking down on Lena as well. He has a belly and kind eyes, but she won't dwell on them for too long.

Lena looks for the door, searching for the exit, but the handsome man bends down and picks up her hat, and she realizes that her hair has fallen to frame her face. "Here ya' go, miss," he says.

Damn.

Her cover is blown and she immediately takes the hat, lowering her gaze so she can make a quick exit. She doesn't want to be recognized, not by strange men.

Nodding her thanks, she rushes outside and untangles Dorian's reins from his post, patting his wet dark coat and heaving herself up onto the saddle. She doesn't want to linger, doesn't want to be recognized as a woman who's traveling alone. She tried hard enough to conceal her identity, and she is definitely not going to allow a mishap to put her at risk.

The vultures that knew her father wanted the money of a corpse. They think she's holding onto the property, but reality is that she's holding onto her cash below her saddle. She needs to get far away, and quickly before they realize what she's done. The money she's stolen from them.

Dorian huffs before immediately going off into a canter, following the main road to leave Valentine. 

She feels for the lump underneath her saddle and adjusts her hat to sit low on her head.

Dorian is probably uncomfortable at the feel of her pushing down on the bag, but she can't put it anywhere else. If she gets robbed, they might check her body and her belongings. Unlike with her horse, that would probably run off if something were to happen. 

It's the best way she could figure out for keeping her money. And disguised as a man she knows people will be less likely to approach her. That and because of the two rifles strapped to her back. Her holster holds a small gun, tightly wound by her hip. 

(She's on her own.)

Almost out of Valentine, Lena focuses on Dorian's steady steps as they leave, her back straight and eyes facing ahead, sure of herself on horseback. It's one of the few things that can still make her feel at peace. 

* * *

The sun has begun to set by the time she's more than halfway to Emerald Ranch. 

Dorian has maintained a steady pace going ahead, his body built to resist the strain. It's a good thing she picked out his scrawny self from the auction since he was useless for racing once he reached four years of age. Feeding him right and caring for him well, he became a beacon of her pride in the months her father's health deteriorated. Her tall thoroughbred horse becoming her only friend after William left.

But she wouldn't think about William. Not now, when he abandoned her.

Sighing, Lena watches the sun setting and slows Dorian down, letting him walk comfortably. She pulls the reins and directs him towards an open area. She should probably hunt something, given the circumstances. After all, canned vegetables would only do so much to hold off her hunger.

The world is calm as she dismounts and takes her bow off of Dorian's side. Ever since she was old enough to remember, she's taken care of things regarding killing for food. William and Tobias had taken her on a couple of hunting trips when she was just growing into her own body. She's learned how to kill smaller animals, and a rabbit would be useful to pack some meat for tomorrow. She's not a terrible hunter and in the past few months, this has become a routine. 

(Especially after you're left to fend for yourself.)

(But that is a thought for another day.)

Quietly, she stalks forward in the higher grass stalks and waits, not moving. 

Dorian is a couple of paces behind her, gently grazing. Lena keeps an ear out for him, knowing that he's quick to sense danger, but right now he's content. 

When it's silent she hates her own thoughts, so she's grateful when she senses a shift of light in the trees off to her right. She squints, trying to decipher what the shadows dancing between the trees mean when she sees movement to her left. 

Letting go of her arrow, she hears the thump of a creature falling and stands. It's a clean kill. She pulls her bow over her head and holds it against her body as she pulls out a small knife and approaches the animal carcass. It's a hare, somewhat skinny, but it will make do.

Lena strides forward, picking it up swiftly and pulling out the arrow. She cleans the head of the arrow on the grass, walking back towards Dorian.

Once she secures her bow and the hare onto her horse, she walks into the woods that gather dark against the fading rays of the sun. 

She's scouting out where to build a campfire, but she doesn't want to be near the main road. At night she knows that's how most robberies happen, so she needs to keep a low profile.

Dorian stands off as she inches forward. He doesn't follow her.

Slowly, Lena walks cautiously into the first rows of trees. The sounds of birds are fading as the night settles, so she's concerned about predators. Especially when everything becomes too quiet around her. Suddenly, she hears her horse huffing and giving off a resounding neigh. 

Lena turns around and runs back immediately, to see a man on the opposite side of Dorian trying to pick it. 

"Hey you," she calls out loudly as Dorian pulls away and the man grabs his reins. The horse neighs again, head held high in protest, as he trashes and circles away from the man.

Dorian is panicking and Lena can see the whites of his eyes as he tries to stand on his hind legs.

"This damn horse," the man says, and Lena can make out his dirty blonde hair, long and sticking to his sweaty face. 

"Get away from my horse!" she demands, pulling her gun from her holster.

The man glances her way, dark eyes amused as he gives her a leer.

"Watch' gonna do?" he taunts.

Lena knows he won't take her seriously, so she aims and shoots.

The shot is loud and bounces off with an echo. The man is now looking down at himself, examining for an injury and pulling his own gun out, but Lena has already started sprinting away in the opposite direction. She whistles loudly and Dorian is running, free from the hold of the man and quickly galloping her way.

Lena has experience running away from confrontation, so she grabs onto Dorian when he is by her side and she lowers herself to her saddle, hands buried into the dark mane as he goes deeper into the woods. 

Dorian is unsettled, but he remains a constant for her, and she hears the cursing from the man as he hollers, shots following in her wake.

"Get back here ya' piece of shit!" the man yells.

Lena can't focus, however, and she spurs Dorian forward, not liking that the sun has set and it's become increasingly hard to see.

Suddenly, Dorian stops, rearing back, and she notices that she's along the edge of a slope. She must've headed back into the Heartlands running away, given that she wasn't so far off. Dorian is good at outrunning other horses, but they might be cornered since Lena can hear the pounding of hooves behind them.

She then pulls the reins and goes back into the thick woods and kicks Dorian hard, the black thoroughbred breathing hard and pushing forward again. The trees are not too dense since she can see the full moon through the foliage, outlining the slope growing into a cliff as she and Dorian try to outrun the man. She knows there's a train station nearby, so she edges her horse on, forcing, almost tripping on small log hidden by bushes. Dorian significantly slows down, vocal about his discomfort and it seems that his step faltered too harshly. He's not lame, but in the minute that he slows down, Lena can see the man riding a buckskin horse towards them, quickly gaining ground.

"This ain't gonna be good for ya'," the man sneers, and Lena is scared.

She pulls her gun from her holster and watches as the man easily avoids the obstacle that slowed down Dorian. It looks like this is familiar territory to him, and Lena can't find another way to buy more time. Her breathing is coming out hard and Dorian is shaking below her, but he hasn't given in yet. He gallops steadily as the man gains ground on them, and then he is by their side, keeping up with their pace. Lena aims and shoots again, the sound scaring away the nearby birds.

But her aim isn't true and he's held off his horse, now flanking her. Before Lena has a chance to react, she feels rough hands grasping her arm before his weight settles on her horse and he's shoving her off her saddle. Dorian starts trashing then, a hoarse sound escaping his lungs as he starts trying to buck them off. The man has grabbed her hand with her gun, but she lifts her arm and elbows him on his face, a cry escaping the man as he tries to push her off. They both get knocked off the horse and land in heap, the man immediately trying to hold her down. Her back pulsates with the pain of the fall, but she tries to kick him.

"Ya' fuckin' cunt," the man spits, and Lena fights back, her eyes brimming with tears as he holds her down and begins choking her.

She trashes and squirms and uses her right hand to land a punch on his cheekbone, feeling the pain exploding on her knuckles. The man looks even more enraged and she can see his crooked teeth and bloodshot eyes as he puts more pressure on her throat. She begins to desperately scratch at his face, leaving bright angry marks and giving herself some relief when he flinches back.

Her hat, her horse, and her guns are behind the man as he lunges for her again, ready to kill her.

"Enough, Micah," she hears someone speak.

Her attacker is once again holding her down and she gives him a venomous look before realizing that there are footsteps gathering around them, surrounding them.

"She outta' die," the man, Micah, sneers.

"I said enough," the other man speaks again, authority in his voice.

He releases Lena and she takes in ragged breaths, her chest heaving from the lack of air. She glances in the direction of the voice and sees the silhouette of more than one person, but they're hidden by shadows.

"Who are you?" she asks, her voice hoarse and frantic.

No one answers her and her eyes follow Micah as he circles around her like a predator. She hears leaves crunching and sees a figure lighting a cigarette as it makes its' way to her, a hat tipped to hide his face.

"The question is," the mystery man speaks, "who are you?"

But then she sees Micah out of the corner of her eyes as he goes to smack her and her skull rings into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena wakes up in an unknown location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very happy with the feedback I've been getting, and I promise that this will get better as we go along! It will also take me a little longer to update, given that I'm currently job searching/writing a novel, so it takes up most of my time! However, in my spare time I will be writing longer chapters so we can get the ball rolling! This is probably the first time I've written a fic for a current fandom, and I definitely want to finish it. I have very few fandoms that keep me coming back. I do believe, however, that Arthur Morgan has one of the best stories I've yet to see for a character. Don't you agree? BTW, we will follow the plot a bit, here and there, but things will be altered to fit what I want. Enjoy the chapter!

**: all outlaws :**

* * *

Lena feels sunlight on her eyes and forces herself awake.

Groggily, she comes to pick out the sounds around her as her vision dances with red spots.

"...been sleepin' all night, we ain't goin' to hear a word of 'er today."

"Ya sure? I think she might be coming about."

Lena observes her breathing being slow, her hands tied together on her lap. It _hurts_ to breathe. Squinting, she lifts her gaze to see that three men are looking down at her and that pain laces the effort to raise her head. She moans at the discomfort and feels for the fabric tightly wound around her mouth, letting her throat feel dry.

"Howdy, miss," says one of the men. He has dark eyes and a mustache, crouching to her left. His eyes are unreadable, but he's offering a kind smile. Lena automatically thinks back and places the voice to the stranger who approached her before she was knocked out.

Yes, knocked out. That ass that wanted to steal from her knocked her unconscious. 

"She ain't not lady, Dutch. That's a bitch if I ever saw one." Lena recognizes this voice. Her attacker stands behind the crouched man and looks worse for wear. Unlike "Dutch", he looks filthy and worn down.

"You don't even know what a lady is, tonto," says the third stranger, who's leaning back on a chair. He offers her a smile as well. "Javier," he nods at her.

Slowly she pushes back against the pain on her body and shows them a mask of indifference. Not too far behind the men she sees tents and sitting areas and she comes to the conclusion that they must've brought her to her camp. Lena doesn't bother replying to them as her eyes wander around, adjusting. She can feel the rough bark of a tree behind her, and she can hear horses nearby. 

Horses. Dorian. She has to find her horse if she's gonna get out of this mess alive.

"Miss," says Dutch, catching her attention again. "I apologize for Micah last night. We don't typically treat young women like this."

Micah makes a mocking sound behind Dutch but keeps his mouth shut. They're all expecting a reaction from her, but stares at him blankly, knowing that it doesn't matter what she says. 

"Problem was," Javier interrupts, "ya came a little too close to our camp last night, bonita."

Lena examines him, noticing the scar below his cheek and on his eyebrow. He is dressed almost all in black, and like Dutch, he is armed to the teeth. Micah seems less of a threat in comparison.

Suddenly she hears footsteps to her left and sees another man approaching. His hat hangs low on his head and she can only make out his baby blue shirt as he nears. 

"Arthur," Dutch grins easily, and she watches the interaction warily. Men, like dogs, have their hierarchy. 

"Mornin'," the newcomer greets. The voice is deep and Lena finds it familiar, but it's not until he raises his gaze to look at her that she recognizes him. The man from the store, the one that helped her.

"We're just talking to our new friend here," Dutch explains, motioning to her and standing up. He paces towards Arthur, standing close. Lena notices that Micah is also watching Arthur warily, his eyes going from him to Dutch.

(Significant.)

Arthur and Dutch, however, are studying her in return. She betrays nothing with her eyes and just waits for them to continue talking.

"So," Arthur begins, "did you follow us?"

His question is directed at her but Lena once again doesn't show any emotion or recognition.

"You think she followed someone?" Javier asks.

Arthur nods. "Me an' Uncle saw 'er yesterday in Valentine. Uncle pushed her. I thought she was a man until she fell."

"Ah," Dutch watches her, calculating. "And why would a young woman need to go around dressed as a man?"

"Hell if I know," Arthur replies, crossing his arms. 

"What about you, Mr. Bell?" Dutch intones, his eyes drifting to Micah. "How'd you end up fighting her in the dirt?"

Micah grimaces and meets her eyes. Slowly, he begins giving her once over, and Lena feels disgusted. She gives him a hard stare, defiant.

"I was minding ma' own business when she shot at me and tried to rob me."

"She robbed you?" Dutch asks, astonished.

Lena glares at the gathered men as Micah Bell shoots her a nasty look. She would spit on his face if her mouth wasn't gagged.

"She surprised me," he murmurs, "s'all."

"She sure as hell did, wit' that shinner she gave ya'," Arthur smirks.

Micah then looks at Arthur, an unspoken threat. Lena catches the angry red marks on Micah's face. She smiles.

"It seems our friend here is entertained," Dutch says. She immediately schools her expressions to be neutral, but now they're all watching her expectantly. It's Javier who breaks up the silence first.

"Hey Bonita, this is what's gonna happen," he says, standing. "I'm gonna remove the gag from ya' mouth, but no screaming or making a big deal," he explains, crouching by her. "Understand?"

Lena looks at him reluctantly but nods, staying still as his wide hands go behind her head and untie the handkerchief. He then stands, stepping away as she opens and closes her mouth and tries to swallow. It's dry and it hurts.

"Is this better, miss?" Dutch asks.

Lena lifts her gaze to look at him but doesn't respond. She again tries to fight back the dryness in her mouth and the pain to get some spit going. Everything around her smells like dirt, and her mouth tastes like it too. But then again, she's covered in mud and she was rolling in the dirt the night before.

"She ain't gonna talk," Micah approaches, cautious. He stays a couple of steps away, but Lena wants to wipe out that dumb look on his face.

"Let's not push our guest, Micah," Dutch reproaches. She sees Javier step closer, but like all of them, he remains at least at arm's length. Lena doesn't know what it is about this that makes her angry, but every nerve in her body is telling her _that this is it_ and that _this is over_ and she's so angry inside she feels her hands beginning to shake. 

Tobias left four months ago, William left two weeks ago. Her father died four days ago. Two days after, she sold her house back to the bank and ran with the money. And now, just when she thought she would finally be able to go away and be safe, she is _HERE_.

Tied up like a goddamn calf.

Shit.

"You want to tell us how you wound up here, miss?" Dutch asks politely. 

Lena lifts her head slightly higher but instead of speaking she presses her lips into a thin line.

Micah catches her eye and takes a step closer, kicking her boots lightly. "Answer him."

She doesn't respond, just glares at him.

It's clear Micah doesn't like that she's challenging him. He leers, black eye swollen grotesquely, matching his broken smile and scratched up cheek. Lena doesn't flinch and he gets closer and grasps her chin, lifting her head. 

She tries to pull away but her head is pressed against the tree behind her and she can feel pain flourishing on her neck, his gritty fingers holding her in place. He leans in closer, and she can see his bloodshot eyes and smell his breath as he inhales and reads her face. He smells like tobacco and cheap whiskey, dirt and sweat. 

Her hands are shaking in her lap. She hates this man. She hates Micah Bell.

"Didn't you hear his question?" he asks. Lena gulps, but her eyes are angry and she's fighting back the urge to snarl at him to take his hands off of her. "You have to answer, bitch." She tries to remove her chin from his hold, but Micah is cruel and he shoves it back lightly, forcing her to look at him. "Ya know, bein' a mute would make it easier for me to find another use for that mouth," he taunts, grinning maniacally.

She spits on him. 

It lands fat and somewhat bloody from being forced, but it drips from the top of his mustache to his lower lip and Micah's hold on her loosens as he startles and begins shaking with rage.

"Ya' fucking--" but before he has a chance to reply, Lena forces her head to snap forward and smash against his face. Burts of pain blossom behind her closed lids and her forehead, but she pulls back and sees Micah stumble back. Her head is pounding, but it feels good to see him hold his face, hands reaching for his nose before his anger pushes him to act again. He lunges for her neck, but there's a kick to his side and then Micah is sprawled on the ground as well, dust lifting as he hastily sits up and wipes at his face, eyes darting to her.

He's panting and won't look at anyone but her, his chest heaving in what she knows is fury.

Lena then gives him a cold smile and lifts her head proudly, patronizing. Her voice is hoarse and scratchy, but it comes out brash in the quiet that's settled between them. 

"If you touch me again," she pauses, "I will break your goddamn ugly face."

Micah moves to reach for her, but someone interrupts. "Cut it out, Bell." Lena recognizes this as Arthur, but she won't look at him.

She is still staring down Micah, satisfaction settling deep in her bones.

"Yer' lucky," Micah says angrily, scrambling near her in all fours. She doesn't flinch, but then she sees Arthur positioning himself between them and her anger returns. "Yer one lucky whore."

"Micah." This time it's Dutch that speaks. 

Micah glances up and then meets her gaze again. Javier comes up behind him and pulls him up by the scruff of his clothes, forcing him to stand. Micah, however, continues to focus on her, mouth pulling back to reveal missing teeth. "I just have a bone to pick," he snarls as he takes a step towards her, watchful of Arthur and Javier.

"Go clean yourself up, will you?" Dutch continues. It's clear to see that this is out of the question and that he's been dismissed.

Micah turns around and walks away, shoulders stiff. He hears him begin to holler at someone deeper into camp, but it's clear that everyone is making an effort to stay out of sight. Her assailant is gone, however, this isn't the worst of her problems. 

"Quite a brave one, bonita," Javier comments. "You better stay clear of that one."

Lena focuses back on the men that remain with her. Dutch is watching her from the sidelines, a thoughtful look on his face, while Arthur and Javier remain quiet. Arthur is the first one to step away from them after a few minutes of silence.

"Tell Hosea to come by," Dutch murmurs to him in passing. Arthur nods and walks away without further comment. Javier sighs but then follows Arthur into camp. Dutch stays pensive, moving to occupy the chair that Javier previously sat on. He doesn't say anything as he waits for Arthur to follow on his words, so Lena takes this time to examines her surroundings better.

She leans her head back and breaths in, her throat slightly uncomfortable, but not entirely unbearable. She sees eight horses all gathered to her left. She doesn't see Dorian.

Good.

Only then she thinks back at how he tripped, and that they might've shot him. 

He could be dead and she then would definitely have no way out.

Her thinking is interrupted when she hears someone approaching. She looks in the direction of the sound and studies the newcomer. This must be Hosea.

Behind Dutch appears a man that is significantly older, with silver hair and deep-set eyes. He has a softer profile than the others, with high cheekbones and a kind look to his face. He is dressed fairly simple in comparison to the rest of the men, who seem to have weapons everywhere. But most surprising, it is that he holds a waterskin in one hand.

Lena gulps at the ghost of the taste. Her tongue is rough in her mouth.

"I heard that the lady needs some water?"

Dutch turns to nod at him, a quick greeting.

Hosea uncaps the waterskin and walks up to her, kneeling before her and pressing the waterskin into her clasped hands. He doesn't remove the ropes tying her wrists together, and instead watches her with something akin to pity in his eyes. She recognizes this strangely as compassion. 

"They haven't been nice to ya, huh?" he stands, giving her space. "Go ahead, drink up."

Lena holds the soft leather waterskin in her hands, feeling the water slushing inside as she raises it hesitantly to her lips. She gives Hosea and Dutch one more indecisive look before she puts the waterskin to her mouth and tips it. The second she feels the water on her lips she starts to drink greedily, feeling the trail of cool going from her throat to her center. The water feels so good that she dismisses the discomfort of her throat when she swallows, hungrily letting every drop overwhelm her even though more spills from her lips and down her neck. She pauses when her arms shake a little from the strain, putting the waterskin down and taking in a breath of air.

Drops dribble down her chin but she doesn't wipe them down as she stares at the men that look at her in an amused manner.

"So this is the miss who's got Bell hollering like an idiot? She doesn't look dangerous to me," Hosea laughs, kneeling to pick up the waterskin from her hands. Lena would've been embarrassed if she wasn't more afraid for her life.

"Mr. Bell needed to learn a lesson," Dutch shrugs, crossing his legs. "A dog bites when it's cornered."

Hosea laughs again, and it is an almost calming sound. He reminds Lena of her pa.

"Well now," the laughing man continues, stepping back so she has more space to breathe easy. "Care to tell us how you ended up here?"

Lena doesn't see the point in withholding the information now that Micah is well and away from her. Her throat is not dry anymore, and it is easier to speak.

"I'm Miss Butler," she says, her voice raspy. 

"Miss Butler," Dutch tests, looking at her carefully. He's noticed she didn't offer her first name, but he seems unfazed by this. "I'm Dutch van der Linde, and this gentleman is Hosea Matthews."

Hosea nods. "Nice to meet you, Miss."

"I didn't do anything to that man, to Micah," she says quickly. "I caught him stealing from my horse."

"Ah," Dutch intones, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. "That sounds more likely. What were you doing so close to our campground?"

"That wasn't my fault. I was just trying to get away from him," she explains, looking down.

"What about the shots we heard?" Hosea asks.

"He was going to kill me," Lena says frankly. "I don't see why I shouldn' try to kill him."

"Hosea, I don't think Miss Butler is so different from us, then," Dutch says. Lena glances at him and sees him smiling.

"Me neither," Hosea says, stepping towards her. He crouches and pulls a hunting knife from his belt. Lena flinches, but Hosea quickly picks the rope tying her hands together and they come undone. She automatically rubs at her hands, her wrists sore.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks, staring at the men in wonder.

Dutch stands, looking down at her with a knowing look in his eyes. "Miss Butler, do you know who I am?"

She shakes her head no but doesn't speak.

Hosea gives Dutch a look, and she can tell that now they know enough about her that they won't ask more questions. After all, she doesn't know who they are.

"I'm Dutch van der Linde, Miss Butler. I'm the leader of the van der Linde gang."

She doesn't recognize the face to the name, but she knows what this means. They're outlaws.

"And, you're letting me go?" she murmurs, looking between them.

Dutch shakes his head, motioning to Hosea. 

Lena doesn't like the unspoken language these men seem to have with Dutch, but she won't comment on it. 

"We can't let ya' go," Hosea says.

"No miss Butler. We'd like you to join us," Dutch explains.

"What?" she questions, wide-eyed. "Why do you want me here? You're not going to kill me?"

"A woman dressed as a man and carrying guns? Camping alone, I presume?"

She doesn't contradict him. 

"And I believe," he says, pausing, "running from her past?"

"Ain't nothing to run from," Lena says bitterly. 

"Oh, Miss Butler, there's always running to do. And from what I've seen, you're an outlaw yourself."

"I'm not an outlaw," she says sharply, and Dutch studies her from the sidelines.

"But you're not just any woman, either. Hosea, please help the lady. Take her to Miss Adler."

"Of course," Hosea says, extending a hand to her. 

Lena stares at it warily. She wants to question Dutch's intentions, but she can't bring herself to do so again.

"What about my horse?" she asks instead.

"That's quite the horse you've got there," Hosea answers. Dutch has begun walking into camp. Lena reaches and grabs Hosea's hand and he hoists her up. Her legs shake a little and her back feels some pain. She must have gotten bruised with the fall off Dorian. 

"You have him?" she persists.

Hosea shakes his head no and motions towards the horses gathered to the side. "He wouldn't let nobody touch 'im. Ran off into the woods, but we sein' him a couple of times."

"Good," she whispers.

"He's staying near you," Hosea mentions. Lena is pleased.

Hosea leads her into the tents, and she now starts seeing the first stirrings of life. Off to her right, she sees a pot over a campfire, and a big closed off tent. Smaller tents litter the area, some with figures laying in cots, others with drapes moving softly against the wind. It seems that the camp inhabitants are slowly coming into the day, and Lena studies the figures off in the distance. Two men stand by the edge of the cliff, the sunlight blocking any possible recognition. A table in the middle of camp holds two more figures, but Lena can't make out anything else. It's only as she comes closer that she can pick out the dresses of a couple of women going about, and five men she's never seen before.

At one point she picks up on the smells of meat and alcohol before she hears snoring and sees the man who she saw in town with Arthur. It's Uncle, and he's deep asleep with an empty bottle nursed close to his chest. 

"I'm sure you'll become acquainted with everyone soon enough, but in the meantime I want you to meet Mrs. Grimshaw and Miss Adler," Hosea explains. Lena can see that they're heading towards a tent with three small cots. A young girl with dark skin sits on one of them, braiding her hair as she hums.

"Tilly," Hosea says. "Do you know where Miss Adler is?"

The girl, Tilly, looks at Lena curiously before she smiles at Hosea, pointing to the trees behind the carriage to her left. "She's probably crying over there," she muses.

Hosea nods and murmurs thank you. As he continues walking, Lena glances once more at Tilly, the girl obviously intrigued by her presence there. Being the subject of scrutiny would make Lena feel uneasy normally, but she has been feeling the eyes on her back before she even walked into the camp.

Lena doesn't want to think much about the subject. Instead, she focuses on the woman that Hosea has begun speaking to, however she doesn't focus on the words. Miss Adler, as they call her, is a sad woman not much older than Lena herself. Beauty outlines her face, but her hazel eyes are puffy, her blonde hair is tangled, and her freckles are harsh against her flushed face. It's clear that she has been crying for a while, now.

"Miss Butler here needs someone to help her out. Get her cleaned up, show her the ropes."

"Yes, I see that but why me?" the words seem like an awful lot of bitterness without malice.

"I think you two have a lot of things in common," Hosea says gently, before turning around and walking away.

The minute he's gone, Lena just stands there awkwardly. Miss Adler is giving her a once over, but then she is standing and patting her long skirts lightly. 

"Follow me," she motions, walking back towards the hurdle of smaller tents clustered nearby. 

Lena turns to stare at the woods, the calm shadows that would allow her to disappear if she wanted to easily. Something settles heavily in her stomach and she feels a sense of urgency eating her up. She flexes her palms, looks at the woods longingly, and Miss Adler clears her throat loudly.

Lena turns to look at her, reluctantly breaking from her running mind. She wants to disappear into the wild.

"They'll put a bullet in ya," Miss Adler says, "any of 'em."

Nodding, Lena walks forward, ignoring the looks she's receiving now that more people have taken notice of her. Miss Adler points to a tree stump and Lena sits, watching her. 

"I know ya ain't here because ya want to, but neither am I," the other woman admits. 

"Then why are you here?" Lena fires back quickly, eyes fleeting to the unknown men lingering about the campfire. Miss Adler has begun picking things out from a trunk at the end of a carriage, piling stockings and skirts over a bedroll. 

"Stop looking so scared," Miss Adler tells her softly. "Yer looking like a feral animal."

"Why are you here?" Lena asks again, trying to read her expression.

"Them nasty O'Driscoll boys shot ma' husband and ma home."

"Oh," Lena mumbles. "Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well now I'm here. Dutch and the gang were camping nearby and killed the men that'a done it."

"And you stayed?"

"You have a better place to go?" Miss Adler snaps, looking at her pointedly. Lena looks at the ground, silent. She doesn't have anywhere to go but be alone. Miss Alder seems to take her silence as an answer. "Figured you didn't. Women don't really have much to fall back on but men. And when there are no men, where do we go?"

The question hangs heavy and aggravates the atmosphere between them. However, Miss Adler doesn't linger on it.

"I stayed because I'm safe here. And gang or not, they're not bad. They hate them bastards that killed my husband just as bad as I do, so I don't see them as ma enemy." 

Miss Alder picks up the pile of clothes and hands her what she has until it stuffs Lena's arms. She places a broken up bar of soap on top and gives her a wry smile, beginning to walk in the direction of the other women in the camp, that seem to be gathered.

Lena follows her slowly, thinking back on Dutch pairing her with Miss Adler for a reason.

"Miss Adler, how long have you been here?" Lena asks softly, pensive.

"Call me Sadie," Miss Adler huffs, annoyed, but doesn't turn to face her, "I've been with them a little over a month."

"And, do you like it?"

At that question, she laughs. "Could be better."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos! I love getting feedback so I know what you think is working. I would also like to announce that the position for beta is open, given that I'm just typing the chapters up and looking them over as I go. Obviously, I can't see my own typos. Anyone up for the task please let me know!

**: hide me well :**

* * *

Lena has never been fond of being dependent on anyone else.

She learned from a young age that you can't rely on other people. Her pa taught her that women marry and have children and stay by their husbands. It was Tobias the one who taught her to be watchful and be independent.

Thinking of his words, his memories, Lena feels her heart pound heavily. It's almost painful.

Tobias taught her how to hunt, how to shoot. Taught her how to ride. He kept William in check when the day came that it was too obvious her closest friend was in love with her.

(Not that Lena minded. It was sort of an understanding that William and she would end up together.)

Tobias had left with the promise of returning, of coming home. But after a month his letters got scarce, short. In half a year he had disappeared, and Lena was left to take care of the farm on her own.

The stable boys and workers mocked her. They thought she was stupid, that she didn't notice their stealing. 

Of course, this got worse after William left.

William Turner had even stayed with her some nights, when it was cold. When it was too lonely and her father was more of a shell than a body.

With stray kisses and caresses, he promised her he'd figure things out, promised her that he'll be there for her. He wrote to her every week after he left, and she holds onto all of his letters in her satchel. He was her first love, and she's sure she would've married him.

When her father died and she was forced to sell her farm to flee, she wrote him one last letter telling him that she'd be in Rhodes. If William writes to her or looks for her, he won't find her. Fear grips her body when she thinks she might never see him again.

_Pretty girl_, he used to call her. She was in love with him too.

When she left, nobody knew, nobody noticed. And if those men came calling for her door again once news of her father's death reached them, she wouldn't know.

She was meant to be in Rhodes by now, far and away and starting again. Yet her luck is down and she's stuck. She's surrounded by people, being watched constantly. She hasn't been there for more than a day, but she knows she will be there for a long time.

She's told what to do and she does it. 

Mrs. Grimshaw has an endless list of tasks on what needs to get done, and Lena obeys because the eyes on her back push her to comply.

It is near sunset, when she rubs at her sore and cut hands, that she is allowed time alone.

Alone, in body, as much as she is alone in her mind.

She can feel their gazes on her, following her, and she knows Sadie was right when she claimed any of them would put a bullet in her.

Especially Micah Bell.

He's preying on her, eating her, chewing her up, spitting her out. 

But Lena never gives him the benefit of meeting his eyes. She knows what she looks like, with frantic eyes and nervous steps. She is not dead, but a misstep and she might as well be.

In the rare moments, she is allowed to be apart, she is her own companion. She stares emptily and feels weightless as she tries to think of nothing. But in this outlaw ground there is rarely a moment alone, she gathers, when she hears footsteps coming her way. Thankfully, it is Hosea.

Lena believes Hosea to be the only honest person she's met in this damn place.

"Miss Butler," he greets easily. "How has Mrs. Grimshaw been treating ya?"

"Is she always like this?"

He laughs, "Yes, I'm 'fraid so."

She sighs and looks up at the swaying tree branches above her. The light of day is fading quickly, morphing the sky into rosy hues and blazing oranges. Hosea is quiet for a minute, allowing her to enjoy the peace in the gentle breeze ruffling her skirts. It smells like burning wood.

"It's beautiful, being out here," he comments.

"It's beautiful being free," she murmurs, her eyes sliding back to look at him. He is frowning lightly, concentrating.

"We live a free life," he shrugs.

"I ain't never been free in my life," she counters. "Is that how outlaws feel?"

Hosea shakes his head, smiling softly. "We're as free as can be, with shadows chasing us."

"Then you're never entirely free," she muses.

Hosea laughs then, loudly. "Go take that up with Dutch, Miss Butler."

"Dutch speaks in half-truths. I don't think any of y'all even know what he truly thinks."

"Well, if that ain't the truth for any man." She's glad he doesn't take what she says as an offense. Hosea is smarter than that.

"But not for any woman," she finishes.

"How so?" he adds.

She meets his eyes and offers him a sad smile. "Have you ever met a woman that is as free as a man?"

"I've met women freer than men," he speaks, thoughtful. "Fell in love with one." Lena watches him curiously, then, intrigued. But she doesn't voice her questions, letting him continue. "I can certainly say that they are rare."

"Really?" she has never met such a woman.

"They come every once in a while," he says, offering her a smile.

"And when do you know? When-- you meet someone who is free?" she pauses.

"Some men bend to laws, and laws bend men. Laws are nothing to outlaws, and outlaws have no ties to men. But such women have no care for any of those things and don't bind themselves to anyone or anything." He's sad, then, but Lena doesn't know what to say. "My Bessie would shoot anyone without prejudice."

Lena watches him, giving him a wry smile. "She must have been a force of nature."

Hosea stares at her then, reading her. He must be gauging her kindness. "She was."

"I hope to be as free, someday," she tells him.

Hosea nods. He has a frown marring his features, his mouth a wry smile. Looking behind him, then turning to her again, he motions. "Follow me, Miss Butler." Lena is surprised at the invitation. She knows he's mulling over what he shared with her, but she imagined he'd want to be alone afterward.

Once again, Hosea reminds her of her pa. It's in the broken smile, the crow's feet that lines his eyes. How he misses Bessie. 

Trusting him, then, is not her biggest concern. She stands, wiping at her skirts and follows him.

Hosea nears the edge of the woods that brims with some horses. Lena can feel eyes on her again, but she doesn't turn around. By one of the horses, another man studies her, his face darkened by the incoming twilight. He looks at Hosea and says something quickly, walking away to brush a horse on the sidelines. 

"Alright, Miss Butler," Hosea points into the trees. "Call your horse."

"What?" she says quickly, warily. Hosea hasn't given her any reason to think he'd harm her, but she also doesn't want Dorian near these men.

"Call your horse. I assume he'll come if you call him. He's been wanderin' all over the place but kicking at anyone tryin' to catch him."

"Are you going to take 'im?" she mumbles, bracing her hands together. She's slightly anxious. 

"Well, I assume you have some belongings with him," he shrugs. "If you're gonna stay with us you're gonna need your horse."

"But, you're not scared I'll run off?" she asks. 

_Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Lena, _she hears William say.

"Miss Butler, we already said we're not gonna harm you. We'd like you to join us."

"But what if I don't want to stay here?" she says angrily.

"It'll be up to Dutch."

"Why does he want me here?"

"Miss Butler," Hosea sighs, "we don't want to put a bullet in ya', and ya seem like you need the help. Miss Adler herself chose to stay after seein' that we ain't that bad a people."

"I'm not Miss Adler," Lena counters. 

"But if Dutch trusts enough that you won't give us up, we might trust you enough to let you leave."

Lena thinks, mulling over this. Hosea might be right, but blind trust never came to her easy.

"I don't want to stay here, Hosea," she murmurs.

He glances at her and smiles. "Nobody is saying you will," he says. "Call your horse."

Lena frowns but does as he says and whistles. It takes a couple of calls until Dorian does approach, emerging from the darkness that had swallowed him whole. He stands tall and long, his body imposing as he immediately heads for Lena, nuzzling her hand. His dark eyes focus on the men beside her, and Lena automatically reaches to pet the white star on his forehead. 

"Help her put her stuff way, Kieran," Lena hears Hosea say. He must be speaking to the man that was brushing the palomino nearby. 

Lena immediately shakes her head no and walks to remove the saddle herself. She undoes the belt and lifts, feeling the bag fall from below the saddle. Thankfully nothing spills, so she hands the saddle to Kieran, who regards her with shy brown eyes.

Turning around, she picks up the bag and holds it close to her chest before grabbing the reins and loosening bridle. Then, she hands Kieran the reins and walks towards her saddle that sits on a post. She quickly looks through her saddlebags and picks out her belongings, pleased that she didn't have anything of value there. She stuffs everything into the bag with the money and throws it over her shoulder. 

Hosea has been quiet while she collects her history and stuffs it all together, but she knows he doesn't know her well enough to suspect she's hiding something. 

"You had more men's clothing?" Hosea says after a moment. 

Lena nods, glad that it is all he believes it to be. "My pa's," she answeres honestly.

"You're not running away from home, are ye'?" he raises a brow.

"No, no," she shakes her head. "He passed away recently."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Lena is tired and she wants to go hide her belongings and go to sleep. Her bones are weary and she's holding onto her past and her secrets over her shoulder, the strap digging in almost painfully into her soul. She doesn't want to look at Hosea anymore.

"I'm sorry, too."

* * *

When the night turns into day, and Lena wakes huddled between Tilly and Sadie, she rises to work.

The motions come to her easy, and she follows Mrs. Grimshaw's instructions. Lena wants to find a way out, but if she's going to run she will need to study them.

Tobias always said that the easiest way to hunt was to study the animals you hunted. When she was fourteen he took her to the edge of the river and told her to watch. They spent hours sitting by the bank, watching the water lap softly on the rocky beach until a small herd of deer came by. _You notice something? _Tobias had asked, pointing to a doe that was walking deeper into the water. Lena didn't know the answer, so she looked at him questioningly. His green eyes shone bright, brighter than her own, and he chuckled. _It's the sun, L. _She looks at the soft blue sky, cloudless. _They need to cool off in the hot hours of the day. _

She was studying them, now. Whatever they did, how their hours and schedules worked. She watched them as they watched her.

And much like Hosea claimed, she needed them to trust her enough to let her breathe. She wears her own boots, but the weigh of their gazes and their bullets hold her down like an anchor, sinking her deeper into the sea. 

It is not so difficult to follow them as they follow her, and within the day she's noticed that the men typically lounge until they sober up. They leave at odd hours, oftentimes alone, and return to Dutch. She sees Hosea every now and then, as he offers her polite conversation when she is allowed to sit down and eat. Slowly, some of the other members of camp have begun addressing her, dismissing her. 

Only one woman besides Mrs. Grimshaw doesn't take orders, and that is Dutch's sweetheart. Or at least, a sweetheart of convenience. Miss O'Shea glares and pouts her rosy lips whenever Lena is near. At this point, the other women in camp gravitate away from the auburn-haired beauty because she is as lovely as poisonous morning glory. Lena might be new, but she knows to follow the crowd. 

And she feels, perhaps, pity for this woman. After all, Sadie told her that she comes from a well-off family. Lena understands that Miss O'Shea is a lonely creature with a broken heart.

When a day turns into a week, it is clear to her that the men follow rotations. Those who leave for the day are safe from jobs, but those who stay are at the mercy of Mrs. Grimshaw's schedule. The camp is constantly guarded, and the positions are exchanged in early mornings and night. Once, Lena even wakes when the first birds begin to sing because she wants to see the exchange happen. The sun has yet to wake, but by the people talking she knows that they're exchanging shifts. 

Lena then begins studying who performs those shifts. She learns that Dutch, Arthur, and Hosea, are never asked to do such a job. She meets Charles, who typically hunts. He is a quiet man, and Lena decides that he, like Hosea, is one of the few people she feels comfortable talking to. Charles never pries into her past, unlike Hosea, but she feels like she can share with him that she's an experienced hunter as well. This earns her a smile. Charles has promised to let her hunt with him someday, and Lena is glad, but worried about time. After all, she would like to, but if she has such an opportunity, why would she stay?

Dutch doesn't say much to her, but many of the other members have words to share. Through them, she learns a few bits here and there and studies Dutch as well. By Mary-Beth, a daydreaming romantic girl, she understands that Dutch is a romantic as well. Mary-Beth says that Dutch is a different type of romantic, and through Javier, Lena begins to understand that all gang members follow him for his ideals. Some nights Dutch gives speeches on their journey west, and by the way eyes widen and grow bright at his speech Lena knows that they are all captivated by such a dream. 

But it is a dream, nonetheless, and Lena can also pick out those who seem unsure. Yet, they still follow Dutch. 

She can understand their loyalties, however. Lena, educated by her pa, can see the affection many have for him after he takes them in. He's taught most of the gang how to read and write.

Jack, for one, is learning through his books. Dutch gives him stories, which Jack admires. Lena was surprised by a child, here, but seeing the women and meeting Abigail, she learns that Jack has an irresponsible father who sits and sulks most of the day. They have their own space, given that they're a family, but it doesn't keep from hearing Abigail being displeased by John Marston. The former offers Lena commentary, but the latter simply seems not to see her. 

Well, John Marston and Micah Bell.

Lena knows that Micah Bell has grown so bitter over her presence in the camp that he has decided to ride on his own. When he doesn't return right away she is pleased, and it seems that no one misses him anyway.

The patterns and behaviors of the people she studies are easy to remember. They treat her kindly, and she does what is expected of her while she watches them.

When one week goes by, she has fallen into habit. 

Gently, the budding trees grow brighter, emerald lacing the afternoon colors and so, slowly, the gang itself awakens more. The mornings are no longer as chilly as they used to be, and Lena has begun missing her pantsuit more and more as the heat grows. The world is changing quickly, and Lena does not want to get used to the risk of comfort. 

When brushing Dorian in the afternoon, she asks Hosea where her guns are.

He just laughs. And Lena knows that if Hosea won't talk, then she has to find out herself.

Kieran looks at her then, quickly, and averts his eyes. But not fast enough for her not to notice.

Lena then begins to hound him.

"Kieran, you remember when I was taken in?" she asks, softly. Her eyes follow the shy man, his movements giving away how uncomfortable she makes him. Normally he doesn't mind her presence, but today he seems keen on avoiding her. 

"No, miss," he says quickly, moving away to avoid her again. She puts the brush down and lets Dorian walk away, intent on following the man. He looks around and Lena can tell that he's looking for someone. He pauses, and she follows his gaze to Hosea. No.

"Kieran," she says hastily, "would you help me with something?" He begins pacing towards Hosea quickly, but not running. Lena immediately follows him, lifting the front of her skirts to keep up while trekking after him at a brisk pace. "Kieran," she huffs, annoyed.

"Maybe Hosea can help ya, ma'am," he says loudly.

Lena reaches out then, sprinting and grabbing his arm. Kieran turns to face her, pulled back hard, shock written on his face. He's paler than he usually looks, and Lena scowls at him. her voice hard. "Kieran--"

"Bonita," she hears close by. A hand on her shoulder that she recognizes at Javier's, but she is glaring at Kieran. 

"Not now," she snaps, green eyes hardened, dark. She's getting an answer from these men. "I asked you a question, Kieran," she growls.

"Is there a problem here?" another voice drawls.

Lena feels Javier pry her hand from Kieran's arm as he gives her a nervous look. Beside him approaches Arthur, who's regarding the scene with interest. 

"Miss Butler had a question," Kieran mumbles.

"O'Driscoll here did somethin'?" Arthur says.

Lena notices how quickly Kieran steps away from Arthur. She doesn't know much behind their history, but she knows Kieran is here as a prisoner. He's only allowed to help with the horses under the supervision of Charles and Hosea. They tie him up every night.

Javier laughs, moving Lena away from Kieran by the shoulders. "I think Miss Butler here might be responsible," he says.

Arthur looks between them, his steel gaze pausing on her face, the frown still on her features. It doesn't last long.

"Take O'Driscoll back to his job, or tie him up again," he orders. 

Lena pulls away from Javier and walks back to her cot, ignoring Hosea when he looks at her expectantly. She's not happy with the way things are proceeding, sure, but her plan to leave is unraveling too slow for her liking. 

Sadie approaches her, then, but Lena has turned to watch the men angrily.

"What was that about?" she says. Lena can hear the amusement on her voice.

"I want my guns back," Lena snaps, not caring about being honest with Sadie. Although Miss Adler doesn't share her desire to leave, Lena has learned that between them there is a sense of camaraderie born from the same dire circumstances of their existence. It is an unacknowledged feeling, an unspoken kinship. 

Sadie laughs a little, the sound like bells. "They ain't gon' to let you have 'em."

"That's why I wanted Kieran to point me in the right direction," she explains. 

Sadie pauses, and Lena turns to look at her. After a few days, Sadie has sobered up more from the loss of her husband and the birth of spring has given her a soft glow. Her eyes remain sad, but she no longer speaks like a bad omen. "Ya know, I think I know who has them," she confesses. 

Lena lowers her voice. "Who?"

"Arthur Morgan."

Turning her head to follow the man as he sits by the campfire, Lena studies him.

Arthur doesn't say much, and the others don't say much about him. He is a private man, and quiet. He only seems to hover around Dutch and Hosea. 

"Why would he have my guns?" 

"Well, he's the one that carried you here."

Lena glances at her, then, unconsciously toying with the hem of her dark blue skirt. "Why him?"

Sadie shrugs, "I s'pose because he scares Mr. Bell. No one here really crosses Arthur, and he doesn't like Micah much."

Lena doesn't feel grateful for that, entirely, but she is somewhat relieved. She doesn't want Micah Bell touching her. 

"How can I get near him?" she asks Sadie, scheming.

Sadie shrugs, ignoring her question for something more interesting. Lena's learned that she's volatile. "Can you really shoot a gun?"

Lena glares at her. "You think me like Miss O'Shea?"

Sadie snickers softly, slapping her shoulder. "Ain't no one as useless as Miss O'Shea."

Lena offers her a wry smile, the closest she's come to laughing recently. She's still bitter.

"My brother taught me how to shoot a long time ago," she explains to Sadie. "He got me one of those guns, when I was sixteen."

Sadie nods, understanding. "My husband let me use his gun, but he never gave me one of my own. I think he figured I didn't need one."

"Well, they never do," Lena says. 

They watch the camp members gather for dinner, and at one point Sadie gets up to follow suit. Lena declines her offer to join her, and instead lays in her cot, thinking. She sees some of the men leaving, Arthur included. Sleep comes late to her that night.

* * *

The day after, she is gathering clothes with Sadie for laundry.

The men come forward and throw their dirty clothes into their sacks. Mary-Beth is bringing back some water from the river nearby with Mrs. Grimshaw while they pile up everything that needs to get cleaned. Almost everyone is done handing in their clothes by the time Mary-Beth and Mrs. Grimshaw return.

Immediately all the women start shuffling busily, and Mrs. Grimshaw approaches Sadie and Lena with a questioning look on her face. 

"Did you finish picking up everything?"

Sadie nods. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Grimshaw seems unsatisfied with that answer. "I don't believe so," she remarks, a gleam in her eyes.

"Well everyone turned in their dirty clothes," Lena says.

"Not everyone," Mrs. Grimshaw grimaces. "I bet neither of you realized Mr. Morgan came back covered in mud, last night," she says.

"How are we supposed to know that?" Sadie says sharply but curves her gaze away when Mrs, Grimshaw looks at her angrily. 

"Go get his dirty clothes, and watch your mouth, girl," she tells Sadie. Lena looks away at the urge to smile. "He's gonna leave soon, so hurry."

Lena doesn't question how Mrs. Grimshaw knows what everyone in the gang is doing at all times. No one does. Sadie shoves her a little and they begin dragging their bags of dirty laundry to Arthur's tent. 

"Now's your chance," Sadie mumbles. Lena looks around and sees that no one is looking at them. The women are following Mrs. Grimshaw around and some of the men are gone. Sadie and Lena are good to do as they please. As they approach the tent, she notices that the flaps are down, giving it privacy. 

Lena gives her back to Sadie as she peeks into the tent. He's not there. Good.

Immediately she drops her laundry sack and begins looking at Arthur's belongings. They're not much, so she doesn't linger.

Feeling his cot, she knows there's nothing there. At his bedside, there's the picture of a pretty woman and a book on nature. Lena huffs, annoyed, before turning to open his trunk. It's small and at the end of his bed. However, when Lena goes to open it, she finds a lock. 

Damn.

"What'cha need?" Lena hears from outside. She immediately grabs her laundry sack and walks outside.

"Oh, Mr.Morgan, we just need your dirty clothes," Sadie says nonchalantly, but Lena thinks she's a bad actress. She can tell that Arthur does too because his eyes immediately focus on her before Sadie is done speaking. 

"What were you doin' in there, Miss Butler?" he asks, sidestepping Sadie to face her.

Lena meets the eyes of the other woman behind him, but Sadie just shakes her head. His blue eyes are impassive. 

"Looking for your clothes," Lena speaks, not entirely lying. It comes off easily from her tongue, and she knows he doesn't believe her, but what can she possibly do against him?

"You could've asked me," he mumbles, walking towards his tent. "Wait here."

Sadie gives her a look of resignation before she walks away. When Arthur steps back outside with a small pile of brown clothes, he drops them in her sack. He doesn't step away, however, as he stares down at her with a curious look to his eyes. Lena takes this as a challenge. He is trying to make her back off.

"You gonna tell me what you were lookin' for?" he asks, his voice low.

Lena gives him a cold smile, then, calculating. She meets his eyes and raises her chin, defiant. "I already told you, Mr. Morgan. There is nothing that you need to concern yourself with."

She turns on her heel and steps away, angry and forcing herself not to yell at him when she hears him mumble something under his breath. 

Getting her guns from Arthur Morgan won't be easy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments or kudos! I will reply to all I can reply and rejoice for every kudos I get! I love feedback!


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